Man Out of Time
by KHwhitelion
Summary: Steve Rogers meets another man out of time. Drabble.


**To be clear: this follows the AL:VH book-canon. Not that horrible excuse for a movie adaption.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter" or "The Avengers."  
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Steve Rogers rarely went out drinking alone. Too often had he seen the disastrous results that came from battling intoxication on one's own. Had he a dime for every drunken 2 AM phone call he'd received from Bucky pleading to bail him out of some ridiculous situation, he'd be rivaling Howard Stark in fortune right now. Or would have, had Bucky's life not ended tragically early and he not been frozen in ice for seventy years.

Regardless, nothing good ever came from a private dance with alcohol, so that he now sat in the corner of an out-of-way bar twiddling a beverages menu between his fingers was highly out of character for the young Captain.

"May I help you, sir?"

"Huh?" Steve looked up, into the tired eyes of a young server. "Oh...yes, actually." He answered, stepping away from his thoughts long enough to order a glass of scotch on the rocks. He received a questioning look, but the man scribbled it down nonetheless.

"Anything else?"

Steve waved his hand, and his waiter departed. He knew it seemed odd, a young man such as he sitting alone with a hard drink; generally one usually had a partner to monitor their intoxication. Unfortunately for the Captain, everyone he'd been close with were dead or on their way out. As he hadn't yet struck any life-long friendships with his Avengers either, flying solo was the best he could do for the time being.

"Captain America?"

The blond man stiffened. That wasn't his server's voice. Raising his head, he learned all too quickly he (for it WAS a he) who'd addressed him wasn't his server, either. Where the young waiter who took his order was short, clean-shaven and fair-haired, the man standing by his table now rivaled Steve himself in height. He was pale (very pale, actually) bearded, with dark, wavy hair combed back; eyes even darker watching him, curiously.

"You _are_ Captain America, are you not?" The stranger said again. Steve blinked, calling on his gentlemanly manor to guide him back to conversation. "Uh...yes. Yes I am." He answered, though suspicion still remained. "I'm sorry, sir...do I know you?"

The other man smiled. "No, no. I'm simply a fan of your work. You're quite the admirable leader."

"Oh. I'm just...uh...doing my job." The Captain answered, still not sure what to make of this but trying to be polite, "Nothing worth admiring."

Something cryptic played on the lips of his acquaintance. "I don't know about that." He said. "One finds with time, that which we consider such standard responsibilities magnify in the eyes of those we defend."

Now it was Steve who offered a chiding grin, looking down at his hands a moment and shaking his head. "No offense, son, but I think I'd know a little more about the change of time than you." One arm raised, combing his fingers through his hair before he looked up once more at the mystery man...who to his surprise, held something unusual in his eyes. Something unreadable.

"Do not be so quick to judge, Captain. You aren't the only one here older than they appear." They way he spoke, it seemed, almost, that he knew something Steve was not privy to; a secretive tongue to match that secretive expression dancing behind his eyes. Steve planned to-nicely of course-ask him what he meant when the waiter returned, balancing his beverage atop a grainy-colored tray.

"Hope I'm not intruding." He mumbled, setting down the scotch. "Will that be all?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, this'll do, thanks."

With a head-bob of his own, the waiter turned to the taller, dark-haired man. "And you, sir? Would you like-"

"Oh, no, no, I'm quite alright, thank you." He answered, holding up a hand. "I'll be on my way shortly."

Once more, the server bobbed his head, then departed.

Both men fell into a short but steady silence; the Captain tilting his glass to his lips and his acquaintance staring off into space.

It was he who also ended it. "I have always believed myself an honest man who holds true to his word; I must be off." He concluded, one hand sliding into the pocket of his long jacket, the other extending towards Steve. "It has been an honor conversing with you, Mr. America."

Accepting the gesture, Rogers shook the other man's hand. "It's Steve, mister..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry, you never told me your name."

A subtle smirk crawled across the stranger's face; his arm fell back by his side. "Abe." He answered, then slipped into the shadows, as though he'd never been there at all.


End file.
